


Christmas

by duchess325



Series: The Baker Street Chronicles [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Molly Hooper and John Watson Friendship, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft's Meddling, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, The final problem spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10385595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchess325/pseuds/duchess325
Summary: Molly comes to Christmas at the Holmes' country estate to finally reveal a big secret to Sherlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an evolving work. It has been revised from a story that I previously published on Tumblr prior to Series 4. This mentions in passing some of the events of Series 4, but there are no major spoilers.

              “Oh, God! Someone please tell me that this is not going to be a new tradition, this ‘family’ Christmas,” Mycroft was complaining and had been complaining all morning in the kitchen of the Holmes’ family country estate. “Really, what are we all doing here again? No one has been shot. Are we selling off more national secrets?”

              “It depends,” Sherlock replied. “Where’s your laptop?”

              “Both of you stop it!” Mrs. Holmes scolded them. “Mike, your father and I are not getting any younger and we want to spend time together as a family, especially after all that has happened this year.”

             “Well, why is John and his offspring here then?”

              “Cheers to you, too, mate,” John said sarcastically as he entered the kitchen. “My offspring? She has a name, you know.”

              Mrs. Holmes spoke up, “John is practically family. John is like a brother to Sherlock, isn’t he dear?”

              “That’s hard to say. Are we speaking metaphorically of an ideal brother with whom you share secrets, who is supportive, loyal, trustworthy and a best friend? Or are we talking about someone like Mycroft?”

              John suppressed a laugh as Mrs. Holmes scolded Sherlock again.

              “Oh, Mrs. Holmes, Molly Hooper will be joining us after all. She texted me this morning.”

              “Lovely! I cannot wait to meet another of Sherlock’s friends.”

              “You invited Molly Hooper?” Sherlock asked with a surprised look on his face.

              “Yes, we discussed this two weeks ago. I told you that her mum was going to be on holiday and Molly was going to be alone for Christmas. I asked you if it would be okay if I invited her along to your parents’ house and you said yes,” John said, exasperated.

              “Obviously, I wasn’t listening to you. Shouldn’t be such a surprise. I just hope that Molly doesn’t make a scene like she did at our flat for Christmas.”

              “SHE?! She made the scene? You mortified the poor woman in front of all of her friends because you had to be Sherlock Holmes, the great deducer. You just couldn’t let it go for just one night. I tried to stop you, but on you went, humiliating her. Did you know that later, after you went and locked yourself in your room with The Woman’s phone, that Molly cried? I found her by the steps, quite the mess. Not only because of your little display of “How Brilliant is Sherlock Holmes” but also because immediately thereafter your stupid phone moaned to tell you that The Woman was texting you and you abruptly left us all standing there in the wake of the violently uncomfortable storm you had created. It was quite awkward and Molly was, understandably upset. But you know what? Just hours later you beckoned and Molly came to the morgue so you could identify The Woman, and these are Molly’s words, ‘by not her face.’ Bloody brilliant you are.”

              With that, John turned and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the three Holmeses in quiet shock. Mrs. Holmes was the first to speak.

              “Is that all true, Sherlock?” she asked quietly.

              Sherlock hung his head, “Yes, Mum.”

              “Oh, Sherlock! That poor girl.”

              “If it is any consolation to you, brother mine, I think it was a terrible idea to invite Molly,” Mycroft quipped.

              “Oh, shut up, Mycroft!” Sherlock yelled.  He was clearly upset by John’s revelation regarding Molly. It only confirmed what he had realized more than two and a half years ago—he had taken Molly for granted and marginalized her as a woman and a friend. He stood up and left the kitchen as well, finding John and Rosie in the sitting room with his father. John was looking out the front windows where Sherlock joined him.

             Staring off into the distance so he wouldn’t have to look John in the eye Sherlock cleared his throat, “Thank you for telling me about that night. I have since come to realize that I have not treated Molly as I should have. You know that she is someone very special to me, someone that I have come to value as a friend and someone that I admire and trust. Thank you for inviting her today.”

             “Yes, well, the day is young yet,” John said curtly and turned away.

             “Wait, what does that mean?” Sherlock called.

             “Just be on your best behavior, you pompous arse.”

             “I will. I promise,” Sherlock answered meekly.

             Just then Mycroft entered the room with a glance toward John, who looked out the window.

             “Sherlock, would you care to join me out in the back garden for a cigarette?”

             “Yes, that is just the thing I need,” Sherlock answered, looking relieved to put some distance between he and John. Grabbing his coat, he followed his brother through the kitchen to the back door.

             Meanwhile, John had spotted Molly’s green Mini Cooper coming up the front drive. “There’s Molly. I’ll just meet her at the front gate and see if she needs any help.”

 

             In the garden, Mycroft offered Sherlock a cigarette. “Low tar, I’m afraid.”

             Sherlock took it and eagerly drew a long drag. He closed his eyes as he slowly released the burning smoke from his lungs. He turned his collar up against the misty rain which had started.

             “So, brother mine, what is the relationship between you and Ms. Hooper? You’ve grown rather fond of her, haven’t you?”

             “I hardly see how it is any of your business.”

             “Everything is my business.”

             “I know you think rather highly of yourself, but it really is not. However, if you must know, I am fond of Molly Hooper. As you know, being gone for two years made me rethink some things, the prospect of living a lonely life was one. By the way, made any new friends lately?”

             “You know my thoughts on things such as friendship and sentiment. I could understand, to a degree, when I thought that what happened between the two of you was merely placating a physical, biological need, but it has become clearer now that there is something more. Therefore, I want to speak on a more serious note for a moment, if we might. Sometimes the work you pursue, dear brother, leads down dangerous paths. Moriarty and Eurus were perfectly willing and capable of killing those you consider your friends. Magnussen would have destroyed John and Mary for the sake of getting to you and, ultimately, me and the British Empire.”

             Sherlock snorted.

             “Oh, dear brother,” Mycroft continued, “laugh if you will, but there are people in this world that you meet through your line of ‘work’ that will not hesitate to use those that you love the most to get to you. They will hurt them. They will use them up.  They will devastate them. Furthermore, I think that soon enough you will find yourself with more than you bargained for with Ms. Hooper, and I hope that will not change your newfound sense of love and sentiment.”

             Sherlock exhaled a stream of smoke in Mycroft’s face. “What do you mean by that?”

             “Oh, don’t worry; I think you will deduce for yourself and in less time than I had hoped, thanks to John Watson.”

             “Don’t be such an arse, Mycroft. We’re not children anymore.”

             “Well, it seems that Ms. Hooper has arrived. Let’s go see if you can deduce anything today, shall we.”

             Taking last drags from their cigarettes, the Holmes brothers stepped over to the birdbath and touched the burning ends of their cigarettes into the water extinguishing them. As they had since they were school boys hiding their habit from their mum, they pocketed the butts to dispose of later.

**************************************************************

             John carried an umbrella and opened Molly’s door when she parked by the Holmes’ front gate. He helped her out of the car and gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

             “How was your drive up?” he asked her he followed her around with the umbrella to the car boot where there were bags of wrapped Christmas presents.

             “Quite lovely. William just fell asleep about thirty minutes ago. Would you mind carrying the presents up to the house, and I’ll get William out of the car and carry him.”

             “Are you sure? I could carry him if you like.”

             “No, that’s okay. I’d rather—for this.”

             “Are you ready for this?” John asked. “It’s not too late to jump back in the car and take off,” he said with a half-smile on his face.

             “John Watson, you are the one that has been championing me to do this. Don’t give me an out now,” Molly said teasingly. Then her face became more serious. “I know I need to do this. I need to do it for all of us—William, Sherlock, and me. I’ll be okay. It will be okay.” She opened the back of her car where William was asleep in his car seat. Molly carefully unbuckled him and covered him with his favorite blanket to keep him dry as she carried him up the lane.

             Molly walked into the sitting room as Sherlock and Mycroft were coming in from the garden. Stirring in her arms was William, still under the cover of his blanket. Mrs. Holmes came bustling in from the kitchen to greet Molly.

             “Hello, you must be Molly! And who is this with you?” she said with a pleasant smile.

             Molly swallowed hard and glanced at John, who gave her an encouraging nod and a smile. She looked toward Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock had a perplexed look upon his face, seeing her with a small child in her arms. Mycroft almost seemed smug, and she nearly lost her nerve. But their parents were smiling so warmly at her, with their arms around each other, that she glimpsed all of the potential that she knew must be somewhere within Sherlock. She cleared her throat as William opened his eyes and looked up at her. She smiled at him.

             “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Sherlock, this is my son William John Scott Hooper.” She took the blanket from his head and William turned to look at everyone in the room.

             “Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Holmes gasped as she grabbed her husband for support.

             Sherlock stood stunned and speechless, for with his tousled dark brown hair, high cheek bones, and piercing blue eyes, there was no mistaking who the father of this child was, and the name erased any doubts.

             “He’s named after John,” Molly continued, smiling at John Watson, “for he was a great support to me when I was all alone. He actually delivered William. So, I gave him John as his second name, and the rest is after his father.” She looked at Sherlock who was still too shocked to speak.

             It was Mrs. Holmes who finally came forward and lay her hand upon William’s cheek. “May I?” she asked Molly, holding her arms out to William. He reached for her without hesitation and Mrs. Holmes embraced him tightly. “I thought I would never see the day,” she sighed.

             John cleared his throat, “Why don’t we all give Sherlock and Molly some privacy. I’m sure there are some things they’ll wish to discuss.”

             Alone with Sherlock, Molly approached him cautiously. He still stood in his damp overcoat looking confused and wounded.

             “Sherlock, I know you are probably angry right now, and I am so sorry. He was a surprise to me after you left, but a very pleasant and welcome surprise. As far as I knew I would never see you again. You were out in the world ridding it of the remaining visages of Moriarty. But with William, I at least had a little part of you with me.”

             “But I’ve been back for over TWO YEARS!” he exclaimed with anger and hurt.

             “I know! And I’ve wanted to tell you! John told me to tell you, but I was scared. I’ve never known quite where I stand with you. I didn’t know if you would want a child.”

             “So, John knew. How long?” He was angry and hurt.

             “At first he didn’t know. I let everyone believe that it was a one-night stand. I told them that the father was out of the picture. It wasn’t until the night that John delivered him that I told him. I just couldn’t keep the secret any more. I had to tell someone and he was the only one that I trusted. Mary knew, too. John brought her to meet me and when she saw William, she knew.  She had seen your picture and anyone can see you when they look at him.”

             “But someone else knew as well,” Sherlock stated. “When you introduced William, you said, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Sherlock, this is my son William John Scott Hooper.’ John already knew William, so they needed no introduction. But you didn’t introduce him to Mycroft either because he knew, too.”

             “After William was born he came to see me. He knew. I don’t know how he knew, but he did. He has been assisting me—not giving me money, it’s not like that. But he got William into Broadhurst School, and he pays the tuition. He makes sure William has everything that he needs.”

             “But that has come at a price. He didn’t want you to tell anyone that I am William’s father, especially not me.”

             “He said that it would put William in danger, that Moriarty’s web of criminals was widespread and still willing to destroy you and anyone associated with you. He also said that it would put you in danger if you somehow found out. He said you couldn’t finish what you started.”

             “It’s been over two years, though. Why haven’t you told me?”

             Molly broke down in tears and turned away, unable to face Sherlock. “I don’t know! I don’t know. I’m so sorry! I didn’t know if you would want us, if you would want him. Like I said, I’ve never known where I stand with you. But this secret has been tearing me apart. I first wanted to tell you after I broke up with Tom. I was going to tell you that morning that we were supposed to go out for breakfast and a chat, but when I ran into Janine—I was just so angry with you.”

             Sherlock closed his eyes and hung his head. “Oh, god,” he whispered. “I was so stupid.”

             “And then,” Molly continued, “I wanted to tell you after I examined you that day in the ambulance, when you had been using. I wanted to tell you what you would be throwing away. I stopped myself though because you were in no fit state, mentally or physically. Then afterwards…after I found you in your apartment, I had almost lost you, and I was going to tell you, but...”

             “Mycroft told you not to tell me. I suppose he told you that I was obviously not fit to be a father.”

             “No, it wasn’t like that. Not quite like that,” she said, turning to look him in the face again. “But I knew that after all that happened with you sister, I knew that I had to tell you, because, love me or not, you deserved to know. I realized that we are not promised tomorrow.”

             “Molly,” Sherlock said, softer now, “if you didn’t know where you stood with me, it’s because I didn’t know either. This is all new territory for me. I’ve spent my life trying to avoid emotions and attachments to people.” He stepped closer to her and put his hands on her waist. “Molly, please don’t cry anymore. When I was away, I thought of you every day. Sometimes in the middle of  nowhere or in the depths of a terrorist cell or crime syndicate, the thought of you was the only thing that kept me going. I would see something that would remind me of you and I would take a picture of it…”

             “And text it to me. I got worried about you when you stopped sending them.”

             “It was dangerous and foolish of me. I used burner phones, but I always worried that I was putting you at risk.”

             “I always deleted them. I wanted to keep them, but I was worried about you, too.” Molly looked down. “The last one that I got from you was the morning that William was born. It was kites. It scared me, because I thought somehow you knew, and then I didn’t hear from you again…”

             “William was born on February 14?” Sherlock asked with an amused smile on his face.

             “Yes,” Molly answered. “So, you didn’t know? Wait, February 14…you were sending me a Valentine?”

             “I was in Afghanistan, getting ready to move into Russia. I couldn’t risk communication anymore. I couldn’t risk you.

             “Molly, I’ve told you before, this is all unfamiliar territory to me, feelings and such. But, I want to be in your life, and I want to be in William’s life, if you will let me. I may need to take things slow and I don’t know what I am doing, but if you will show me…”

             “Yes, of course, Sherlock. We’ll take it as slow as you need to go. Do you think today that you might like to talk to William? We don’t have to tell him who you are right now. It might be better for him that way, to get to know you first.”

             “Yes, I think that would be better. I would like to meet him properly though.”

             “He’s brilliant. I’ve never met a child who seemed so thoughtful and intuitive. I suppose that is to be expected, though.”

             “Obviously--” Sherlock caught himself before he elaborated and said something rude. “That is, he obviously takes after his mother.”

             “There’s no need to say that.”

             “It’s true though. You are one of the most intelligent people that I have ever met. You are good at what you do. William is very lucky to have you as a mother.”

             “Thank you,” Molly replied, blushing. “Now, shall we go introduce you?”

             “Just one more thing first,” Sherlock said, and he bent over and kissed her softly on the lips as Molly blushed again. “Honestly, you did keep me going every day. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

             

 

 


End file.
